A Second Chance

By Shayne Parkinson

Amy uses the second chance she had hardly dared dream of to make up for the wasted years. But a familiar face from long ago makes an unwelcome reappearance, threatening her new-found happiness. Payback has more than one meaning, and sometimes people get what they deserve.

"A Second Chance" is the sequel to the three-volume work "Promises to Keep"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shayne Parkinson
• Release date: Jul 13, 2009
• ISBN: 9781452303871

Shayne Parkinson

I write historical fiction set in New Zealand, starting in the 1880s and continuing through to the 1920s. I'm fascinated by social history, particularly that of my own country.I live in a state of barely-controlled chaos; fortunately I share my life with an invariably calm and endlessly optimistic husband. I divide my time between an apartment in the city, in reach of good espresso, and a few acres in the country, where the rank grass in the orchard is kept under control by a small mob of sheep (and where we have our own espresso machine).When I'm not writing, reading, or engaged in mundane activities, I play the piano rather badly.

Book preview

Prologue

April 1906

The clear autumn sunlight lent a hint of gold to the rich green of the grass. Flowers glowed where the light caught them: daisies growing wild in the grass, neat posies in earthenware pots, and a whole basketful of blooms carried by a slight figure dressed all in black.

She carried the basket over one arm, her other arm looped through that of the tall woman who walked at her side. Her hat with its black veil barely reached her companion’s shoulder, and a casual observer might have taken them for a woman in charge of a young girl. But closer inspection would reveal fine lines around the eyes of the black-clad woman, and a few threads of silver in her dark hair; while her companion’s face was smooth and unlined, and her hair glossy black wings under her white straw hat.

They stopped in front of a small slab of pale grey marble, the woman in black releasing her hold on the other with a hesitation that spoke of how precious the contact was. She crouched before the slab and placed a posy of pink roses in the vase that stood there.

‘This is where Granny’s buried—your great-grandmother,’ she said.

The younger woman crouched beside her, and traced the words on the stone with her fingers. ‘Her name was Amy, too. You were named after her.’

‘Yes, I was.’ Amy stroked the blue silk of the younger woman’s skirt. ‘And I named you after Mama.’

She rose and went the few steps to where another, larger, slab marked a double plot. ‘Come and see Mama and Pa’s stone,’ she said, looking over her shoulder. The younger woman joined her.

‘ In Loving Memory of Ann Leith, ’ Amy read aloud. ‘ Dearly Beloved Wife of Jack Leith.’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘She was beloved, too. I don’t think Pa ever really got over losing her.’

‘So young,’ her companion murmured, studying the stone. ‘Only twenty-seven.’

‘I can just remember her,’ Amy said. ‘She was lovely—that’s why I gave you her name.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘It hides Mama’s name, having Sarah in front of it. I know they wanted to give you a new name, but I can call you Sarah Ann when it’s just us two, can’t I?’

‘Of course,’ said Sarah. ‘I’m not ashamed of the name you gave me.’

Amy placed more of her roses before the stone. ‘ And of the above Jack Leith,’ she read. ‘See how new the writing looks compared to Mama’s? It’s six years since Pa passed away, though. I wish you could have met him.’

‘I doubt if we would have been friends,’ Sarah said, a tightness creeping into her voice.

‘I think you—’ A look at Sarah’s set expression silenced Amy. ‘I hope you would have,’ she murmured.

‘I found one of these red roses this morning,’ she went on more brightly. ‘Pa always liked these ones best—Mama planted the bush, and I took a cutting from it. They don’t usually have flowers this late, I was lucky to find one.’ She held the rose out. ‘Would you put it on Pa’s grave for me? Please?’

Sarah hesitated only a moment. ‘I think not,’ she said crisply. ‘I can’t see that my attentions would make my grandfather rest easier in his grave.’ She put a hand on Amy’s arm. ‘Whenever I think of him, I can’t get past the knowledge that he made you marry that dreadful man. That he made you give me away.’

Amy shook her head. ‘It wasn’t like that. Pa was only trying to do the right thing for me.’

‘If that’s the case, he had an odd way of going about it.’

‘He did his best.’ Amy slipped the red rose back into her basket and walked a short distance with Sarah, to a small plot marked by a low white stone. ‘This was your baby brother.’

‘ Alexander John Stewart,’ Sarah read aloud. ‘Such a little grave it is.’

‘They told me he was tiny. He was born much too early, and he only lived a few hours. I wasn’t allowed to see him.’ Amy took a small spray of jasmine from her basket and placed it in front of the stone. ‘I used to think I’d like to have some of that iron that looks like a cradle around Alexander’s grave. They do that with babies’ graves sometimes—there’s one over there, see? Alexander never had a real cradle.’

‘Why didn’t you have his grave done like that, then?’ Sarah asked.

Amy gave a small shrug. ‘Charlie didn’t seem to think of it, and I didn’t like to ask. I suppose it would have cost a lot of money.’

‘I’ll see that it’s done.’

‘Oh, it doesn’t matter now, Sarah, not after all this time.’

‘Yes, it does,’ Sarah said. ‘He was my baby brother, after all. Half-brother, anyway. There’s no need to discuss it, the thing’s settled.’

Amy squeezed her hand in silent gratitude, and kept hold of the hand to lead Sarah over to a tall, imposing monument. ‘There’s a wonderful stone for Mal, anyway. The whole town put in money to have this put up. Mal was the only boy from here that went to the war.’

‘He must have been well thought of,’ Sarah remarked, studying the inscription.

‘He… people thought well of him after he died, anyway. I suppose that’s how it usually goes. He wasn’t a bad boy, not really.

‘I had them put Charlie as near Mal’s memorial as I could.’ Amy shook her head as a rush of memories crowded in on her. ‘It tore the heart out of him when Mal died, I think.’

‘Are you sure he ever had one?’ Sarah said acidly.

‘Oh, yes. Especially for Mal. Charlie was never the same again after that.’ She gazed up at the monument. ‘But he wouldn’t ever talk about it—not till right at the end, anyway. He never even saw this memorial.’

She turned aside to the last of her dead. ‘And now he’s just about alongside it. That was the best I could do for him.’ She reached into her basket for the final bunch of roses.

‘I hope you’re not going to ask me to put flowers on his grave,’ Sarah said, with the familiar sharpness that edged her voice whenever she spoke of Charlie.

Amy shook her head. ‘No, I don’t expect you to take any notice of Charlie. He wasn’t anything to you.’ She placed the roses on the still-bare mound of earth.

There was only one flower left in her basket now: the single red rose. Amy took it up and turned it over in her hand, careful of the thorns. ‘I suppose I’d better put this on Pa’s grave myself, then,’ she said, doing her best to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

‘Amy, you are the most soft-hearted creature I’ve ever met,’ Sarah scolded. She plucked the rose from Amy’s hand, strode back to the double grave, and crouched before the stone.

‘Amy thinks that you and I would have been friends, Grandfather,’ she said. ‘I’ve my doubts about that. But Amy loved you, and I’m prepared to believe you cared for her, too. So that will have to suffice for me. Here you are, then.’ She placed the rose in front of the stone.

Amy came up behind her and slipped her arm around Sarah’s waist as the younger woman stood up. ‘Are you happy now?’ Sarah asked.

‘Oh, yes. I think I’m the happiest woman in the world.’

‘Good.’ Sarah slid her own arm around Amy’s waist. ‘I’d do a good deal to make you happy, Amy.’

Her solemn expression melted into a smile, and she lowered her face to Amy’s. Her breath tickled delightfully against Amy’s skin as Sarah whispered the secret that, in all the world, only the two of them shared:

‘Mama.’ The word slipped almost soundlessly into Amy’s ear. ‘Little Mama.’

1

David yawned hugely. He belatedly remembered his manners and covered the last part of the yawn with his hand.

‘I’m off to bed, Ma,’ he told Amy, standing up to punctuate his words. ‘I’m just about asleep already.’ He stooped to kiss Amy good night.

She twined her arms around his neck to return the embrace. ‘Good night, Davie.’

‘I suppose you two are going to sit up half the night talking again,’ David said, casting a grin in Sarah’s direction.

Amy smiled up at her son, noting with fresh pleasure the subtle likeness between Sarah and him. ‘We’ll sit up a bit longer, won’t we, Sarah? We won’t talk loud, though.’

‘You must’ve just about talked yourselves out by now,’ David said. ‘I don’t know what you keep finding to talk about.’

‘Why, you, of course,’ Sarah said at once, allowing herself a small smile. ‘I’m surprised your ears don’t burn with it.’

‘Well, maybe they would if I didn’t sleep so sound.’ He yawned again, this time managing to catch the whole of the yawn with his hand. ‘Night, Ma. Night, Miss Millish.’

‘Dave doesn’t quite know what to make of us,’ Sarah remarked when David had closed his bedroom door behind him. ‘Whatever is his sensible mother doing, spending all her time talking to that odd woman from Auckland?’

‘Davie doesn’t think you’re odd.’ Amy spoke in a whisper, all too aware of how thin the wall was between the parlour and David’s room. ‘He’s just not used to seeing me sit up so late.’ She reached out and took Sarah’s hand. ‘He doesn’t know I’m trying to catch up on twenty years without you.’

Sarah squeezed her hand in answer. Amy stared into her face, still struggling to take in the wonder of it: that the baby she had only been allowed to keep for a precious few weeks should have found her; should have come back to her as an assured young woman, with all the gifts Amy had ever prayed her child might have. And the greatest joy of all was that Sarah was as ready to return her love as Amy was to offer it. No wonder that Amy resented even the hours spent sleeping, when they meant time spent away from her daughter.

‘Let’s go and sit in my funny little bedroom,’ Sarah said. ‘I haven’t the patience to be whispering all the time.’

Amy followed Sarah out through the front door of the cottage and into the room that had been formed from a closed-in portion of the verandah. It held a bed and a low chest of drawers, and the floor boasted a small rag rug that stopped a few of the draughts that nudged through the floorboards on winter nights. For years it had been ‘the boys’ room’, then ‘Dave’s room’ when Malcolm had gone. Now David slept in the bedroom that had been his father’s, and the verandah room had been empty since Charlie’s death. Until three days before, when Amy had miraculously acquired a full-grown child to put in this room.

Sarah propped the pillow against the wall as a back rest and patted the space beside her on the bed. ‘Sit here next to me. We can both use the pillow if we sit close—though you can’t help but sit close in here, can you? However did you fit two big boys in this room?’

Amy joined her on the bed. ‘We managed somehow. My boys didn’t know any different, so I don’t suppose they ever thought they should have a bigger room.’

Sarah had touched on the one thing that troubled Amy about having her under their roof: the plainness of the lodging. ‘I’m sorry it’s not very flash here—I know it’s not what you’re used to.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Amy, I didn’t come for the sake of the accommodation! And you’re not to apologise for the fact that that man couldn’t provide you with a decent house to live in.’

‘It’s not as bad as all that. Anyway, I’m used to it.’

‘Then it’s high time you grew used to something better.’ Sarah took Amy’s hand and looked straight into her eyes with that disconcertingly direct gaze of hers. ‘I want you to come to Auckland with me.’

Amy had been expecting the words for days. ‘I can’t, Sarah. I just don’t see how I can be away from the farm.’

‘But you must come. You know I can’t stay here for long, don’t you?’

‘No, I don’t suppose you can,’ Amy said. ‘You’ve got your business to look after and everything.’

‘And you surely don’t want us to part again so soon? Not when we’ve so much catching up to do.’

‘I… well, I hoped you could stay for a bit longer. I knew it couldn’t be as long as all that, though.’

‘And after my bit longer? What did you expect us to do after that? Make do with letters?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve been trying not to think about you going away again.’

‘Well, you must think about it,’ Sarah said. ‘I’ve got to go home within the next few days—by the end of the week at the latest, I’ve a meeting on Monday that can’t be put off. But I don’t want to go without you.’

‘I wish I could, honestly I do. But how can I go away and leave Davie? Who’d look after him?’

Sarah gripped her hand hard, then abruptly let it drop. ‘Must David’s convenience govern your entire existence? Haven’t you spent enough of your life running around after him?’

‘It’s not like that, Sarah. Dave works hard, and he’s got to have someone to get his meals on and everything. You do see that, don’t you? He needs me.’

‘Dave’s had you for twenty years. Isn’t it time I had my chance with you?’

‘Not twenty,’ Amy murmured.

‘What did you say? Don’t whisper so,’ Sarah said, irritation clear in her voice although she kept it low.

‘It’s not twenty years. Dave’s only eighteen.’

‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake, are you going to turn pedantic on me now?’ Sarah’s mouth twisted in annoyance. ‘Eighteen years, then, if we must be precise. That’s long enough, isn’t it?’

Her face hardened, and she stared at the bedroom wall; directing her disapproval towards the oblivious David, Amy knew. ‘And for all your fussing over him, David didn’t concern himself over you, did he? Not when he went wandering off for years and left you alone with that man. I don’t see that he thought beyond his own comfort.’

Amy sighed, and wished silently that things did not have to be quite so complicated. ‘It wasn’t like that. Dave didn’t want to go away.’

‘Why did he go, then?’ Sarah asked, making no attempt to hide her scepticism.

‘He…’ Amy hesitated. Sarah felt enough bitterness towards Charlie without Amy’s giving her more cause. ‘Maybe you should ask Dave yourself.’

‘Perhaps I will,’ said Sarah. ‘Leaving you with that man! How could he?’ She shook her head in perplexity. ‘However did you cope, Amy? Living all those years with that coarse, brutish creature! No, don’t you go scolding me, you know well enough what I thought of him, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise’

Amy stared at the opposite wall, aware of Sarah’s careful scrutiny. She tried to keep her expression calm as memories washed over her.

Twenty-one years since she had come to live in this house. She had been barely sixteen, haunted by nameless fears that lurked in the shadows of her awareness. She had learned soon enough to give names to those fears; learned that this house held things more substantial than shadows to be afraid of. The worst Sarah had known of Charlie was his lack of social graces. His coarse way of speaking had been the last vestige of the terrifying husband Amy had once known; it had roused more pity than distress in her.

‘Amy.’ Sarah’s voice dragged Amy back to the present. Sarah was studying her, a slight frown creasing her forehead. ‘Do you know, I can see the thoughts writing words over your face. I almost feel I could read you as clearly as a book if only I knew the language a little better. What is it, Amy? What are those thoughts of yours saying?’

Amy gave a rueful smile. ‘Oh, nothing much. Just things that happened years and years ago. I suppose… well, it’s a good thing you didn’t meet Charlie earlier. You only met him once he’d got easy to get along with.’

‘I find that hard to believe,’ Sarah muttered. ‘Oh, never mind him. Don’t you want to come with me, Amy?’

‘Of course I do. But I’ve got to try and do the right thing by everyone—you as well as Dave. That’s what’s so hard.’

‘Don’t worry about trying to please other people—me included, come to that. Just do what you want.’

‘But… but that’s what I do want,’ Amy said helplessly. ‘I want to try and make everyone happy.’

‘Then you may just be doomed to failure,’ said Sarah. ‘Dave’s interests and mine seem to be directly opposed. I suppose expecting him to consider your wishes is not to be hoped for? Ah, now you’re going to scold me for criticising your precious Davie, aren’t you?’

Amy felt tears of frustration pricking at her eyes. ‘Don’t talk like that, Sarah, please don’t. I wish you could—’

‘Oh, Lord, now you’re going to cry, and it’s my doing,’ Sarah interrupted. ‘Come here, my silly Mama, and let your dreadful daughter try and put things right. No, not a word from you until I’ve finished.’

She drew Amy within the circle of her arm. ‘Let me finish your sentence for you. I wish you could get to know Dave better. I wish you’d make an effort. There, it’s said now. But we’ll have no more talk tonight about Auckland or husbands or brothers, or anything else difficult.’

*

Sarah was unused to the early hours Amy and David kept. She emerged for breakfast the next morning some time after David had finished his meal and gone off about his work, while Amy was making a batch of scones.

‘Late for breakfast again,’ Sarah said cheerfully. She kissed Amy on the cheek and gathered up a plate and knife for herself. ‘No, don’t you go waiting on me, I’m quite capable of getting myself some bread and jam.’

‘It wouldn’t take me long to make you a proper breakfast,’ Amy tried. ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t like one?’

‘Quite sure, thank you. Unlike you and Dave, I’m doing very little useful work at the moment. I’ve no need for bacon and eggs. Is that tea fresh?’

‘Fairly. It’s still hot, anyway.’

‘Good. Sit down and I’ll pour us both a cup.’

Amy wiped her dough-covered hands on her apron and took a seat at the table. ‘You seem very bright this morning, Sarah.’

‘Mmm. I took advantage of the still of the night to think things through. I see now that I’ve allowed myself to lose sight of the issues of real import.’ She smiled as she toyed with her cup. ‘Father would have scolded me for that. Muster your facts, Sarah, he used to say. You can’t expect to convince others if you’ve only the woolliest notion of what you’re talking about. Well, I’ve mustered them now.’

‘Have you?’ Amy said, struggling to make sense of Sarah’s words.

‘Yes, I have. The facts, then. First: I want you to come to Auckland with me for a good, long visit—I’ll expect you to stay three months at least. Preferably four. Next fact, you want to come as much as I want you to. Are we agreed thus far?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘No buts. They can come later. Now, it seems that the only thing standing in the way of our getting what we want is what’s to be done with Dave while you’re away.’

‘Yes, that’s right. There’s his meals to get on, and washing and everything. That’s why I can’t go away.’

Sarah pounced on Amy’s words. ‘Ah, but it’s not quite that simple. That’s something Father taught me later—the facts are not always as clear as they might seem. We’ve looked at the obvious ones, now let’s probe a little deeper.’

She raised her cup from its saucer and studied Amy over the rim. ‘It’s not difficult to see what needs doing about Dave. There are other people in this valley besides yourself who are capable of cooking meals and washing clothes and goodness knows what else.’

‘But I couldn’t expect…’ Under the pressure of Sarah’s steady gaze, Amy heard her voice trailing away. ‘I just couldn’t.’

‘The real problem,’ Sarah went on relentlessly, ‘is that you don’t want to upset Dave. Now, that’s getting closer to the truth, isn’t it? You’re reluctant to tell him you want to go away for a while. You’ve spent so long trying to please everyone, trying to keep everybody happy, that taking the risk of upsetting Dave for so trivial a reason as doing something you want is quite beyond you.’

‘It’s not like that,’ Amy protested feebly.

‘Ah, but it is. And as if that weren’t enough, you’ve me to cope with.’ Sarah replaced her cup on the saucer and reached out to stroke Amy’s hand. ‘Whenever you dare mention Dave to me, I bristle with indignation and start finding excuses to criticise your darling boy. No wonder you hardly know what you want, let alone how to go about getting it.

‘So it’s time I helped you along,’ Sarah announced. ‘Where’s Dave?’

‘Down at the potato paddock, I think. What do you want him for?’

‘Well, you’ve hinted to me often enough that I couldn’t help but like Dave if I’d only make the effort to get to know him better. I’m not saying I’m completely convinced yet, mind. But we shall see.’ Sarah stood and leaned over to place a kiss on Amy’s cheek. ‘I’m going to make an effort,’ she said over her shoulder as she headed for the back door.

*

She found David easily enough; he was in the potato paddock as Amy had said, checking on the mound of potatoes that were to be stored for the winter. He looked up as she approached, and Sarah saw his smile of welcome replaced by a somewhat apprehensive expression.

‘I thought you were Ma for a minute,’ he said, not quite meeting her eyes. ‘Is it time for morning tea already?’

‘No, not just yet. I left Amy making a batch of the largest scones I’ve ever seen, so I expect they’ll take a while to cook. May I join you for a little? I feel the need of some fresh air.’

‘If you want. I don’t know if there’s anywhere clean enough for you to sit, though.’ David looked about for a suitable spot, then snatched up the jacket he had put to one side. ‘Here, you can have this if you like,’ he said, spreading it over a dry patch of ground.

‘How chivalrous.’ Sarah lowered herself onto the makeshift seat. ‘Thank you, Mr Stewart. Don’t let me interrupt your work, though.’

‘I wouldn’t mind getting on with it,’ David said, casting a glance at his potatoes. ‘I’ve just about finished, anyway.’

Sarah attempted a dispassionate study of David as she watched him spread a final layer of fern fronds over the potatoes. A handsome man; that was undeniable. He was one of the few men Sarah had ever met who topped her own height by several inches, and the well-muscled frame that went with it gave him an impressive stature. His father had bequeathed his height and build to David, but that was the limit of David’s resemblance to Charlie. He had Amy’s dark hair, in David’s case just long enough to betray a hint of curl, and Amy’s large, blue eyes. Disguised by a bonnet, his face would have been pretty enough for a woman’s. Sarah briefly indulged in the mental exercise of surrounding that face with lace and ribbons, completing the picture with a froth of dark curls.

Yes, he would have made a very pretty woman; prettier than she was herself. He certainly resembled Amy more strikingly than she did. Was that why she felt so jealous of him?

Her musings brought her up short. Jealous? Of David? How could she be jealous of a man who had spent his life in a rough cottage, apart from three years in a mining camp? His entire possessions consisted of this little farm, the earnings of which, Sarah suspected, would barely be noticed on one of her own balance sheets. Amy had assured her that David had done well at his lessons; be that as it might, his father had taken him out of school as soon as the law allowed, wanting the use of his labour full-time.

But he had had Amy. All his life she had been there; he had not had to track her down through vague hints and dusty certificates. And it took no great powers of observation to see that Amy loved him with all the depths of affection she was capable of. How could he have valued that so little as to have left her alone when he had gone to the mine?

She realised that David had stopped working, and was aware of her scrutiny.

‘Am I doing something silly?’ he said.

‘I don’t believe so. Why do you ask?’

‘It’s just the way you were looking at me. I thought you were laughing at something a minute ago—something about me. Then you looked as though you wanted to tell me off. S’pose that’s not anything out of the ordinary, though.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Sarah asked, genuinely startled.

‘Well, you often do look as though you’d like to go crook at me.’ He lowered his eyes and looked away. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Oh, please do speak freely, Mr Stewart. This is your property, after all. And you and I will never learn to know one another better if we continually stand on ceremony.’ She saw the quick twist of his mouth that betrayed his thoughts. ‘Now you’re wondering why on earth we should want to get to know one another better, aren’t you?’

‘Sort of,’ David admitted. ‘I mean, Ma likes you and all that, and I’m really happy for her. Ma hasn’t had it too easy, you know.’

‘Yes, I do know,’ Sarah agreed feelingly. ‘That’s what I particularly wanted to talk to you about. Sit down, why don’t you? Come along, I don’t often bite. There’s probably room on this jacket of yours.’

‘No, over here’ll do. I don’t want to get your fancy dress dirty.’ David squatted down on his heels opposite her.

It was Amy she wanted to talk about, but David’s odd manner intrigued Sarah. ‘I almost think you’re frightened of me, Mr Stewart,’ she mused aloud. ‘Now, what have I done to deserve that?’

‘I’m not really. Well, I suppose I… well, Ma said you were a teacher.’

‘Yes, I was. I gave it up last year, when my other obligations grew more demanding. Why does that trouble you particularly?’

‘Well, you sort of remind me of this teacher I used to have.’

‘Really? Aren’t you a little beyond being afraid of school teachers?’

‘You never knew Miss Metcalf. You’re not really like her,’ he added uncomfortably. ‘You sure don’t look like her. It’s just the way you always look as if you want to tell me off. I can just see you with a strap in your hand.’

‘I do know how to use one. I don’t think you need worry on that account, though. If for no other reason than that Amy would evict me from the house if I tried it.’

She saw the warmth of his smile at the mention of Amy. There was no doubting David’s fondness for his mother, though there still remained the mystery of why he had left her alone for so long.

‘Amy works terribly hard, doesn’t she?’ said Sarah.

‘Yes, she’s always doing something. It’s not like when Pa was alive, though. He took a lot of looking after once he’d got sick.’

‘And a lot of putting up with, I imagine.’ She saw David shoot a rapid glance at her, then look away. ‘Don’t you agree?’ Still no reply. ‘Oh, come now, Mr Stewart, it’s a simple enough question. Your father was not a particularly easy man to get along with, was he?’

David chewed at his lip, opened his mouth and closed it again. Sarah waited, drumming her fingers lightly on her lap. ‘There’s no good dragging up all that old stuff,’ David blurted out at last. ‘It’d only upset Ma, anyway.’

‘But she’s not here at the moment,’ Sarah pointed out in her most reasonable voice. ‘And I want to know one or two things. Why did you go to Waihi, Mr Stewart?’

She saw him shift uncomfortably. It was clear that he did not want to discuss the matter, but Sarah held his gaze coolly. ‘Well?’ she pressed.

‘There’s not many jobs I know how to do, ’cept farming. I wanted to go somewhere I could make a bit of money. I thought the mines would pay pretty well.’

‘Yes, yes, I don’t mean why you specifically chose Waihi. Why did you leave the farm? Why did you leave Amy alone with your father? How did you expect her to cope?’

‘Do you think I wanted to?’ David startled her with his sudden fierceness. ‘Do you think I was happy, leaving her with the old man?’

As if his outburst had alarmed him, too, he fell silent for a moment, and lowered his voice when he went on. ‘I tried to make her come with me, but she wouldn’t. She said there wouldn’t be anywhere for her to stay in Waihi—she was right, too, I couldn’t have had her staying in the bunkhouse. I was going to send for her as soon as I could get enough money to rent a house or something. I kept thinking I’d be able to soon. I never did, though.’

‘And why were you there yourself, Mr Stewart?’ Sarah asked, relentless. ‘Why did you leave the farm?’

David’s reluctance to answer was almost palpable. ‘Ma says you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,’ he said under his breath.

‘I’ve always thought that of all people the dead were least likely to be harmed by harsh words,’ Sarah mused. ‘Why did you go away, Mr Stewart?’

David slumped in defeat. ‘I didn’t have much choice. The old man told me to clear out.’

Sarah nodded. ‘I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me, really. I saw enough of your father to know he was capable of that. But you surely could have made some effort to get on with him, couldn’t you? For Amy’s sake, at least.’ She steadfastly ignored the weak flutterings of her conscience as it reminded her that she had found herself incapable of tolerating Charlie in polite silence for more than a few minutes. ‘Why did you have to go squabbling with him?’

‘I did try and get on with him,’ David said in a low voice. ‘I put up with him for years and years so’s not to make it harder for Ma. I didn’t care what he said to me—I didn’t!’ he insisted, as if Sarah had contradicted him. ‘But I wasn’t going to let him talk to Ma like that any more.’

‘Talk to her like what?’ Sarah prompted, her interest stirred.

David made a noise of disgust; for a moment Sarah thought he might be going to spit on the ground. ‘Dirty talk. I wouldn’t repeat it in front of you.’ His forehead creased in a frown that seemed to hold as much puzzlement as anger. ‘Awful, awful things he used to say to her. I don’t know why. He used to talk as if she was… well, never mind that. You wouldn’t want to hear it.’

‘No, I wouldn’t. Though I rather think I can guess some of it well enough.’

‘Maybe,’ David said doubtfully. ‘Anyway, this last time I was fed up with him. He’d been more of an old so-and-so than ever since Mal died, I was just about sick to death of him. And then he started carrying on with his dirty talk to Ma—it was the worst he’d ever been with it. I told him to shut up, but he just kept going on and on. So I made him shut up. I knocked him down.’

He heard Sarah’s sharp intake of breath. ‘Pa wasn’t old and sick then like when you met him,’ he said quickly. ‘I wouldn’t have done it if he’d been like that.’

‘Oh, please don’t apologise. I think all the better of you for it.’ And it was true. As Sarah pictured David’s fists slamming into Charlie’s face, silencing the filthy words with a crunch of bone on bone, it was as if they were her own fists cramming Charlie’s filth back in on himself. ‘It probably wasn’t particularly sensible, but one can’t always be sensible. Tell me—I can see you’re not comfortable with the subject, but bear with me a little longer—did he often talk to Amy like that?’

‘Yes,’ David said grimly. ‘As far back as I can remember. He did more than just talk when I was little, too.’ He saw Sarah’s expression; she sensed that he had not meant to let slip that particular information.

‘Do you mean,’ Sarah said in a tightly controlled voice, ‘that he used violence against Amy?’

‘He used to thump her, yes. That was only when I was little, though,’ David added quickly. ‘He stopped years and years ago—I don’t know how Ma made him stop, but she did it somehow. I’d never have left her with him if he’d still been carrying on like that.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ Sarah was aware of the tremble in her voice. How could she have been so naive? she berated herself. How could she not have guessed what Charlie had been capable of?

‘And I told him he’d better not try it again, too. The day I cleared out of here, I told him if I ever heard he’d laid a hand on Ma I’d come back and I’d kill him.’

‘I see.’ Her response sounded hopelessly inadequate in her own ears, but it was the best she could summon. They both fell silent, David staring at the ground while Sarah studied him.

‘Yes, I do think better of you,’ she said at last. ‘And I think perhaps I understand things a little better now. Thank you for that.’

David shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Ma doesn’t like people bringing up that old stuff. And he got so sick and everything… well, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for the old beggar.’

‘I’ll take your word for that. It wasn’t quite my experience. Mr Stewart… oh, that sounds ridiculous! It makes me think of your father, too. May I call you Dave?’

‘I wish you would. It sounds like you’re going to tell me off or something when you keep saying Mr Stewart all the time.’

‘Does it? I hadn’t intended that. And I won’t tell you off unless you give me good reason to. Dave, then. Will you call me Sarah?’

‘All right,’ David agreed readily. ‘It’d make you not seem like a teacher so much.’

‘Perhaps it would make it easier for us to be… well, friends, I suppose. I think we should be friends, don’t you?’

‘If you want.’ David looked somewhat puzzled by her overture.

‘Yes, I do want to—for Amy’s sake, if nothing else.’ Sarah smiled thoughtfully. ‘You and I have quite a lot in common, you know.’

‘Do we?’

‘Yes, we do. Well, we’ve Amy in common, anyway—I mean, we’re both fond of Amy. Perhaps I didn’t realise before just how fond of her you are.’

‘Yes, I am.’ David’s attention seemed suddenly absorbed by a roughness on one of his fingers; he picked vigorously at it rather than meet Sarah’s eyes. She sensed the deep feeling behind his words, for all their plainness.

‘And that fondness we share should be reason enough for us to make an effort to get on. For Amy’s sake.’ She paused, trying to guess the reaction she might get to her next words. ‘I want to take Amy to Auckland with me.’

David’s head jerked upright. ‘Eh? What do you want to do that for?’

‘Because I want to look after her. Because I think it would make her happy. You don’t grudge her that, do you?’

‘But…’ She saw David swallow with difficulty. ‘You mean take her up there for good?’ His voice was tight with emotion, and Sarah was struck by how young he suddenly looked. For a moment she feared he might cry.

‘No, no, of course not—you surely don’t think I’d be able to talk Amy into that, do you? No, I’m only trying to persuade her into staying a few months.’ No need to tell David just yet that she was thinking beyond a single visit to a time when Amy might divide her year between the two of them. And not necessarily on the basis of six months spent in each place; nine months in Auckland and three on the farm Sarah considered might be a reasonable balance. ‘I think Amy deserves a holiday. Don’t you?’

‘I don’t know,’ David said, clearly taken aback. ‘I suppose she does. She works hard, all right. Especially all that time she was trying to run the place on her own.’

‘So a trip to Auckland would be just the thing for her, wouldn’t it?’ Sarah went on briskly. ‘She wouldn’t have to lift a finger in my house. And I could take her out and about to all manner of interesting places. I’m sure she’d enjoy herself immensely.’

‘It sounds pretty good. I think Ma would like that.’

‘Yes. And I know she wants to come, she admitted as much. So what a pity it is that she won’t.’

‘Won’t she? Why not?’

‘Can’t you guess? Because of you, of course. Oh, don’t look so startled, you know Amy well enough. She won’t come because she thinks she has to stay here to look after you. That seems a little hard, doesn’t it?’

‘She hasn’t said anything.’

‘No, of course she hasn’t. She’d rather keep quiet and do without her holiday than risk upsetting you.’ She studied David, gauging his reaction. Mainly bewilderment, she decided.

‘But I wouldn’t mind her going,’ he said, shaking his head in confusion. ‘I wouldn’t make a fuss or anything. I’d like her to have a holiday.’

Sarah snatched hold of the advantage offered her. ‘Good. You can help me tell her she’s to come. She won’t try arguing against both of us if we band together. And you can tell me who should be roped in to look after you while Amy’s away.’

‘I suppose I could do for myself.’

‘Have a little sense!’ Sarah snapped. ‘We’re hardly going to persuade Amy that you’re fit to be left to your own devices if you talk such nonsense.’

She had the satisfaction of seeing David sit bolt upright, his eyes studying her nervously. Sarah let her face relax into a smile. ‘Goodness me, I almost thought you were going to hold your hand out for me to strap it. Now, come along, be sensible. Would I be wrong in assuming that making a cup of tea is about the limit of your culinary abilities?’

‘I can do a sandwich. I don’t suppose I’d be much use at getting dinner on, though,’ he admitted.

‘No, I’d guessed as much. So, what shall we tell Amy you’ll do about your meals?’

‘Well, next door’s closest,’ David said after a moment’s consideration. ‘I could go over to Uncle John’s or Uncle Harry’s, maybe. But Aunt Lizzie’s the best one for organising things. I mean, even if I was to say I’d go to Uncle John’s, she’d probably think of something else and tell me I was to do that instead.’

‘Just as I thought,’ said Sarah. ‘Perhaps I’d better pay your Aunt Lizzie a visit this afternoon. Then we’ll have it all settled.’

David went back to his work. Sarah rested on her elbows, enjoying the feel of the sun through her dress, and watched him finish off covering the potatoes. A movement caught her attention; she looked up towards the house, shading her eyes against the light.

Yes, that was Amy approaching, taking quick little steps across the paddock. As she grew nearer, Sarah could see her anxious expression.

‘Amy’s worried I’ve been upsetting you,’ she remarked. ‘Now, you’re not going to let me down, are you?’

David shook his head. Sarah stood up, and they walked over to Amy.

‘Don’t look so worried, darling,’ Sarah said, slipping her arm through Amy’s. ‘Dave and I have discussed the business of your holiday, and we’re in complete agreement. You’re to come to Auckland with me. Isn’t that right, Dave?’

‘Yes, I reckon it’s a good idea. A trip to Auckland would be just the thing for you.’

Sarah smiled at being quoted so carefully. ‘And we’ve thought out how to manage looking after Dave while you’re away. I’m going to talk to Mrs Kelly—perhaps this afternoon, there’s no point leaving things. Dave and I are quite sure she’ll take on the organising.’

Amy stared from each of them to the other, her face a picture of mingled delight and disbelief. ‘I… you don’t mind, Davie? You don’t mind if I go away for a while?’

‘I want you to go, Ma. You deserve a holiday.’

‘But—’

‘Oh, what excuse are you going to come up with now?’ Sarah raised her eyebrows in pretended exasperation.

‘Well, there’s one more thing,’ Amy said. ‘It’s the headstone—Charlie’s headstone. I can’t go away till it’s arrived, it wouldn’t seem right.’

Trust that man to make things awkward one last time, Sarah thought to herself. ‘When’s it to come?’

‘Another three weeks yet, I’m afraid. They said it’d be here around the end of the month.’

Sarah considered the matter. ‘I can’t stay here that long myself. It’ll mean you’ll have to travel up to Auckland alone. Do you think you could do that?’

‘Oh, yes, of course I could.’

‘Very well, then, you’re to come up as soon as it’s arrived. And I’ll be trusting you to see that she’s on that boat in three weeks’ time, David.’

‘I’ll have her on the boat all right,’ David said stoutly. He took Amy’s free arm and tucked it through his. ‘I’m starving, Ma. Is it morning tea yet?’

‘I was coming down to call you in for it.’ Amy caught Sarah’s amused expression, and gave a rueful smile. ‘Well, I suppose it was mainly an excuse to see if you two were getting on all right.’

‘Of course we are,’ said Sarah. ‘We’re the best of friends.’ She planted a kiss on Amy’s cheek. ‘Let’s go and check on these scones of yours. I want to see if they really are as big as I remembered.’

Amy walked between them, revelling in the closeness to both. Sarah and David were chatting easily, but Amy’s heart was too full for words as she looked up at first one animated face, then the other, while she tried to match their long strides.

‘Hey, I can smell those scones now,’ David said when they neared the house. ‘Hurry up, Ma, they smell good.’

‘I can’t keep up with you two. You go on ahead,’ Amy said, attempting to slip her arms out of theirs.

She saw Sarah catch David’s eye over the top of her head, a mischievous expression on her face. Sarah gripped her arm more tightly. ‘Let’s make her run.’

‘I can’t!’ Amy protested. She struggled to match their fresh pace, laughing helplessly. ‘I can’t,’ she panted out. ‘I’m too old to run.’

‘Then we’ll have to help you,’ Sarah said, her smile more mischievous than ever. ‘Ready, Dave?’

He nodded, and took a firmer hold on Amy’s arm.

‘One, two, three, up!’ Sarah cried.

They hoisted her aloft, the three of them giggling like children. Amy wanted to shout the news to the world, but she made do with a wordless cry of delight. It was decided; it was settled. She was going to Auckland.

2

There was one task Amy dissuaded Sarah from attempting.

‘I’ll ask Lizzie about looking after Dave,’ she said. ‘I’d rather do it myself. Not today, either, there’s no need to rush. And I’d like to… Sarah, would you mind if I told Lizzie about you? Who you really are, I mean. I won’t if you don’t want me to.’

‘Tell the world if you want,’ Sarah said easily. ‘I’m not ashamed of you, dearest.’

‘No, not the world. Only Lizzie, I think.’

‘You’re not going to tell Dave?’

‘I… I don’t think so,’ Amy said after a pause. ‘Not yet, anyway. I might one day. Do you think I should?’ she asked anxiously.

Sarah gave a small shrug. ‘It’s your decision, not mine. I’ll admit to a little idle curiosity as to how he might react. I’d be able to tell him it’s my right to order him about, since I’m his big sister.’

It was more than idle curiosity that Amy felt; it was something akin to fear. How would David take the knowledge that she had borne a child before her marriage? Could he ever think of her in the same way again? And the darkest question of all whispered from a deep recess of her mind: would he still love her? Why search for the answer when it was so easy to avoid the question?

*

Letting Sarah go was a wrench for Amy. But she had her trip to Auckland to look forward to, and before then she had a job to do. It was time to go and see Lizzie.

Few enough of Amy’s family had even known of the existence of her first child; of those few, Lizzie was the only one who had ever let her talk about the baby. The joy of her new knowledge bubbled inside Amy, making her step light as she walked along the track down the valley.

Frank and Lizzie were lingering over a morning cup of tea when Amy entered the warm kitchen. Frank had prevailed on Lizzie to let him hold Benjy; the baby waved his arms and chortled a greeting at Amy. Beth and Maisie hurried to fetch a cup of tea for her, and when she had fussed over Benjy and kissed Lizzie she took the seat Lizzie indicated.

‘Well, you look bright as a button,’ Lizzie remarked. ‘I thought you might be a bit down in the dumps, with your visitor going.’

‘It did seem a bit flat last night—I missed Sarah straight away. But do you know what’s happened?’ Amy put her hand on Lizzie’s arm, wanting to be sure she had her cousin’s full attention for her momentous announcement. ‘Sarah’s asked me to go and stay with her in Auckland.’

‘Oh, the silly girl. I hope she didn’t make a fuss when you said you wouldn’t.’

‘But I didn’t say that. I’ve said I’ll go.’

‘Don’t talk rot, Amy! Honestly, fancy that girl getting you to say such a thing. You couldn’t go all that way by yourself—and to Auckland, of all places. Frank says it’s an awful place, isn’t it, Frank?’

‘Well, it can be a bit wearying, with the size of it,’ Frank allowed. ‘It’s a bit of a beggar finding your way around, anyway.’

‘There you are, then,’ Lizzie said, as if her case had been proven beyond question. ‘You probably wouldn’t be able to find her house, even if you did go up there. You just write her a nice letter and say it was good of her to ask, but you don’t want to go after all. She won’t mind.’

‘I do want to go, though,’ Amy said quietly.

‘You don’t really. That Miss Millish has got you all excited, but once you’ve settled down and had a little think about it, you’ll see for yourself it’s a silly idea. Going all that way on your own, and you don’t even know her all that well. I know she’s sort of Lily’s cousin, but she’s not anything to you.’

‘She is, Lizzie. Sarah’s special. She’s as special as she could be. She…’ Amy glanced around the room, taking in their interested audience. ‘I need to talk to you. Please?’

She met Lizzie’s eyes, and was relieved to see her catch the message that this talk was not for all ears.

‘Come up to the bedroom for a minute,’ Lizzie said. ‘Frank, mind you don’t go spilling your tea on Benjy—sit him up properly.’

‘Yes, I’m not too good with babies yet,’ Frank said, trying to assume a suitably humble expression. ‘We’ve only had the eight of them, after all.’

‘I’m just telling you to be careful, there’s no need to talk silly. Mama won’t be long, sweetie,’ Lizzie cooed to the baby. ‘Let him suck on a biscuit, Frank, he might be a bit hungry.’

She ushered Amy ahead of her, up the passage and into the bedroom. As soon as she had closed the bedroom door behind them, she turned to Amy with a mixture of curiosity and concern in her face.

‘Now, what’s going on? Whatever’s got you so excited?’

Amy took hold of both Lizzie’s hands in hers. ‘It’s Sarah.’ She took a deep breath to calm herself as, for a moment, the wonder of it all threatened to overwhelm her. ‘Sarah’s my little girl. She’s Ann come back to me. She’s my daughter.’ She savoured the delicious feel of the words as her mouth formed them. ‘My daughter.’

Lizzie stood as if frozen and stared at her, not with the delight Amy had hoped to see, but with deep concern. ‘Oh,